


More Than Money And Sense

by wynniethepooh



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Courier!Blaine, M/M, New York, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynniethepooh/pseuds/wynniethepooh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a bike courier in New York is hard work, physically and mentally. Riding those miles, every day, and remembering all those names. But Blaine loves it, he really does. He knows everybody on the route, talks to them with a happy smile, and a bad day is only one that results in a bruised hip from a collision with a rule-breaking car.<br/>When he gets a letter to deliver outside of his normal route, it strikes his curiosity. But delivering that letter strikes his curiosity more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! This little thing was written (and oh wow, I started it a long time ago) based on an ad that was airing in Australia at the time, for Advil, which is a pain relief pill. You can still see the video here, second one down: http://www.advil.net.au/join-1000s-of-people-taking-Advil.html  
> I had heard the name Blaine (though it is spelt differently in the video) when I wasn't even watching the TV, just as background sound, and then this idea slipped into my head and wouldn't let go.  
> I hope you like it!  
> PS. The "Noah" in this story isn't really Puck, though maybe it could be some alternate universe Puck. I used the name without even realising, but I didn't have the heart to change it. The character had become "Noah" to me.

His feet push down on the pedals with a ferocity that burns into his leg muscles and begs for him to slow down. For a brief moment, he allows himself a reprieve as he rounds the curve of a turning bus, before continuing on his mission along the street, reaching into the bag on his back as he cycles. Speed, that is the key to Blaine’s mission. Speed is necessary. Speed means finished by midday, and a good lunch before all the chicken and avocado sandwiches are sold. Speed means an afternoon spent in relaxation at his apartment with Tink and maybe Noah if he’s bothered to come home today. 

The package now held securely in his hand is meant for the office of the accountants on the corner of Broadway and East 11th. He’s pretty sure it’s a delivery of papers from another accountant across the city, by the seal on the top of the thick envelope, but he doesn’t mean to pry, so when he drops his bike at the door to the lobby, he doesn’t ask. He only hands the envelope to the receptionist with a ‘Hi there, Ms Brownley. How are you today?’ Then he’s gone, back out and onto his bike and down the street towards his next delivery. 

Come to think of it, he’s been delivering to the accountants on Broadway and East 11th quite a bit recently. And always the same thick packages, A4 in size, but stuffed full of sheets of paper, almost to the point of bursting.

He drags the next package out of his bag. It’s a tube package, the kind for posters or plans, and meant for across at the other end of Broadway, not normally a part of the city in his loop. But he hops on his bike and continues forward. That’s his job after all.

* * *

 

Kurt’s running late. He knows it, God, does he know it, but there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do. Broadway’s blocked off at Reade, where he normally turns after getting breakfast at Avera’s Street Bakery. The long way round takes twenty minutes longer, and that’s twenty minutes he doesn’t have to spare. Letting out a sigh normally reserved for once he’s inside his building, he darts across the street to the taxi terminal, narrowly missing a bike courier as he skids past on his way along the crowded street.

Normally walking is faster in New York, but if he takes a taxi, Kurt at least knows he can give the excuse of bad traffic for his tardiness.

There’s a cab waiting at the terminal when he finally battles through the pedestrians to the other side of the street. A quick word of direction and they’re off, Kurt leaning closer to the back of the drivers seat to say threateningly, ‘And the shortest route, please.’

It’s a lot quickly than Kurt thought it would be, the cab pulling up outside his building with a minute to spare on the clock, enough that he can pay the cabby and clock in before he’s marked down as officially late. He sprints into the building, giving a quick wave to the receptionist, who he’s met once or twice, and is on friendly terms with, before skidding to a stop in front of the elevator.  

A sign on the front says, in unfortunate block letters, ‘CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.’

‘Hannah?’ he asks, turning to the receptionist and calling across the tiled lobby. ‘What is this?’

She gives him a sympathetic smile and shrugs her shoulders. ‘The signs been there since I got in. Apparently the buttons weren’t working last night when the janitors locked up, and haven’t shown any signs of going good since then.’ She motions towards the stairs. ‘Only option until the repairmen turn up.’

Kurt hates stairs. He hates them with a passion, and maybe Hannah has no reason to know this, but he still sends her a half-hearted dirty look which she returns with a laugh and a dismissing wave. 

He climbs them as quickly as he can without slipping, something which is incredibly difficult on the smooth tiled surface. _Tiled stairs! Isn’t that a safety hazard? Does no one have any clue about OH &S in this building? _He grips the handrail for support and tries to keep his breath as steady as possible, so his boss won’t know he’s practically ran from the taxi all the way to his desk.

His office is on the third floor, and sometimes Kurt complains about his lack of a good, cityscape view, but today, he just feels lucky he doesn’t have to climb up all the way up to the tenth. His desk chair gives beneath his weight before bouncing up to the height he likes it at, and he clicks at the power button on his computer to turn it on and log in.

As it’s running its power up sequence, he scans his desk for notes and new tasks from his boss. Nothing in the task department yet, but there’s a handwritten note in his memos tray and he slips it out to read it.

_‘Hey, Kurt,_  
 _So we’re going out drinking again tonight, yes? I’ve got confirmation from Caitlyn and Henry, just waiting on you, my dear! Call me!  
_ _Rachel.’_

He screws the note up and throws it in the trash without picking up his phone or drawing out his cell. ‘Not after last week, we won’t,’ he mutters under his breath, and signs into his office email. One at the top from his boss.

_‘Kurt_  
 _Sort the mail - should be on your desk - and get any designs to me ASAP. Then see Maria. She has some errands for you to run, colour swatches and the like. I expect an update from you by midday. An email will do.  
_ _D. Anchor'_

‘Mail, mail, mail,’ he whispers under his breath, but there is most definitely no mail on his desk. Maybe there was nothing to deliver this morning? He picks up his phone, considered dialing Rachel’s number for a second, but instead presses the line for the lobby. ‘Hannah?’ he asks. ‘Has the mail been delivered today?’

He can hear her rustling papers on the other end, presumably looking through her pile of call logs and outgoing messages. ‘Doesn’t look like it has, no. Do you want me to bring them up to you when the courier gets here?’

‘No,’ Kurt replies. ‘Just send him up. I’ll have a quick word with him about tardiness on the job.’

Hannah gives a short derisive laugh. ‘Coming from you?’

‘Not my fault!’

But she’s still laughing as he hangs up, scowling at the line and at the email still sitting on his monitor.

* * *

 

The building in front of Blaine seems just like any other building in New York. Offices: maybe an architect or fashion company, from the package in his hand. The glass revolving door at the front is classy enough, and he leaves his bike out the front as he presses through it. 

The girl behind the desk in the lobby takes one look at him, with his helmet and the bag of mail on his back, and points towards the stairs. 

‘Are you looking for Anchor Designs? Third floor.’ 

She responds before Blaine even has a chance to respond, and he gives a brief wave of thanks, stepping towards the elevators he can see at the far end of the room.

‘Take the stairs!’ she calls after him.

‘Why?’

‘The elevator’s broken down.’ She shrugs apologetically, and he shakes his head in resignation, turning instead towards the stairs. They’re smooth tile, not the normal non-slick material he’s used to on his normal rounds - when he has to take the stairs, that is. He grabs the handrail to steady himself and climbs as quickly as he can.

Speed is not on his side this morning. 

It takes him less than a minute to get to the third floor, slipping only twice on the smooth steps, and then he’s within the offices themselves, holding up the package and calling for someone to sign.

It’s a man who raises his hand, motioning for Blaine to bring the package to his desk. ‘Took your fine time,’ he grumbles when Blaine places the tube down.

‘What are you talking about? I’ve been working at optimum speed all morning.’ He shoots the man a grin, trying to raise a laugh, but his head is down, signing the consignment slip, and he doesn’t notice.

‘Really? Because normally the mail’s here before I even get in, and I’ve been here for ten minutes.’

‘Sor-ry,’ Blaine responds, trying to add a little lilt to it, get the man’s attention, but he’s getting nothing in that direction. Maybe he’s naturally surly, but something gives Blaine the impression that he’s had a bad day. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he asks, politely as possible, and finally, the man raises his head. 

His eyes are the brightest blue Blaine has ever seen, and they catch onto his with a fire he wasn’t expecting. It seems like a moment before he says anything, and Blaine wonders if maybe he should have filled that silence, but he doesn’t know what he’d have said if he did. _Wow, you’re beautiful?_

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ the man says and turns back to his work, handing Blaine the consignment note and opening the tube. He doesn’t look back up at him, and Blaine turns away from him, back towards the stairwell.

‘Well, I’ll see you around then, sweetheart.’ And he knows he’s making a risk. You don’t make a pass like that to another guy, especially when you have no real proof that they’re gay. But this man is well dressed, working in a fashion offices - as he could determine by the large prints of models upon the back wall - and his hair is way too impeccable for him to be completely straight.

There’s no response, and Blaine doesn’t know whether to take this as offense, or just a continuation of the man’s bad morning.

But he doesn’t look back, and he doesn’t ask questions.

He just goes back to his bike and heads to his next delivery, wondering who the man was, and why he was so goddamn grumpy.

* * *

 

Kurt’s just opened the tube and pulled out the designs to glance over when Rachel climbs the stairs, breath heavy as she leans against his desk.

‘Who was the cute courier?’ she asks, sitting backwards on his desk, and even though she’s not meant to be here, at his work place, and he doesn’t really want her here, he doesn’t have the heart or energy to push her off.

‘No idea.’

‘His butt was _mighty fine,’_ she says, and she gives Kurt a sideward glance, waiting for a reaction. Then, ‘I’m pretty sure he’s gay, too.’

‘What does it matter?' 

She sighs and moves in closer as Kurt deems the design definitely something for his boss and rolls it back up, returning it to the delivery tube. ‘It matters because you haven’t been out with anyone since we got to New York, and that was two years ago.’ Rachel reaches out a hand to guide Kurt’s face so he is looking directly at her. ‘And we always said this was the place of opportunities, and especially for you, Kurt. But you take none of them.’

‘That’s not true,’ he replies swiftly, but there’s no bite behind it. 

‘Yes, it is. There was that cute guy in your dorm, who was all over you. Graham, from Starbucks. That guy Jordan that I set you up with from my monologue class.’

Kurt bites his lip and gives her a withering glance that takes all his energy. ‘Graham wasn’t actually gay, the cute guy in my dorm was from Texas, and you know what I say about too strong accents, and Jordan was just a creep.’ But it’s true. He hasn’t given enough guys a chance since they got to New York, the Land of Opportunities.

And at least the elusive mail courier was interested, if the flirtatious “sweetheart” had anything to do with it. And, oh, his eyes. Those glorious pools of hazel and caramel topping. 

‘If you see him again,’ Rachel says, slipping off his desk and towards the door - the visit was clearly just a stop off on the way to class or an audition for her, ‘ask him his name.’ She smiles. ‘It’s the least you can do.’ She waves behind her back at him, and then, almost as if she’s forgotten, calls back, ‘And drinks tonight!' 

He doesn’t bother to respond to tell her that he’s not going.

* * *

 

‘Hi, Blaine!’ his next regular calls out as he pushes his bike just inside the door of the lobby and steps across to the desk. His legs burn from the exertion of coming back across town, and again he wonders why that one delivery was added to his load today. Why he had to cycle halfway across the city and back again just to drop off that one tube.

But he certainly doesn’t regret it. 

‘Hi, um-’ he starts, searching for her name but he can’t find it. Damn, he knows he knows this. ‘What is it again?’ he asks with a sympathetic shrug.

‘Katie.’

‘Right, sorry, Katie.’ He hands over the short stack of letters, giving her a wide smile which he hope supports his apology. 

He’s halfway to the door when her voice stops him. ‘Is something up today, Blaine?’ 

‘What?’ 

When he turns back, she’s drawn the stack of envelopes down and is sifting through them slowly. ‘You just seem really out of it.’

‘Oh.’ Blaine bites his lip, tries to run over his day and think of anything that would serve as an excuse for his distraction. But all he can think about is the assistant with the bright blue eyes across the other side of the city. ‘No reason,’ he finally concludes.

She gives him a nod, but he can tell that she can tell. Her eyes are too knowing. 

‘See you tomorrow!’ he calls as he grabs his bike, swinging one leg over the seat.

‘See you, Blaine!’

* * *

 

It’s two o’clock when he finally makes it home. Tink’s already eaten, so no lunch date today, but Blaine grabs a bowl from the cupboard and fills it with corn chips for a makeshift meal. There’s a possibility there might be salsa in the fridge, and even cheese and guacamole, but he doesn’t look. It seems easier to just eat corn chips, rather than going through all that effort.

‘Got held up today?’ Tink asks when he sits down, drawing his feet up onto the sofa and crossing his legs. Her name’s not really Tink - that would be ridiculous - but that’s what Blaine likes to call her. When they first met, in Blaine’s first year music theory class, she introduced herself as ‘Isabelle, but you should call me Bluebelle’. It didn’t seem to work for her, despite her insistence, and so she became Tinkerbell, and quickly, for convenience, Tink.

‘Yeah,’ Blaine says, leaning his head back against the seat of the couch and aiming a corn chip into his mouth. 

‘What happened? You only eat plain corn chips when something’s up.’

He takes one look at the chips and stores that in his memory for later reference: _Don’t eat plain corn chips when you don’t want to talk._

‘Nothing,’ he says, hoping she’ll ignore it. Tink’s generally good at understanding when someone doesn’t want to talk. The problem is, she’s also good at knowing when someone _should_ talk, and Blaine has a feeling this moments going to fall into the latter category. 

‘I’m thinking it’s something to do with work,’ she says, mulling it over as she looks at him. She’s curled her own feet up onto the couch and turned around so she’s directly facing Blaine’s side and can watch him with her cool calculating gaze. Her dark hair has been pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and Blaine has the feeling she probably hasn’t showered today. Tink hasn’t worked a day in her life, with a moderately rich father who hopes she’ll make more of her life than she wants to. So instead she stays home, pouring over the piano she’d brought with her to the apartment and making music that makes Blaine’s toes curl with enjoyment between classes that she attends in her pajamas or sweats and band shirts. Sometimes, he thinks, if he were straight, she’d be the kind of girl he could fall in love with.

‘Warm,’ he replies to her question, biting into another corn chip and not caring as the crumbs settle around his collar. She brushes them off with a kind hand. 

‘Because you’re so late, I’d say you had to pick up one of the other couriers loads?’

‘Colder.’

‘Hmmm.’ She looks him over again, weighing him up. ‘No broken bones, so I wouldn’t say a run in with a car, unless you’ve got some hidden bruises I can’t see.’ She pokes Blaine lightly in the stomach but he doesn’t wince, so she calls that line of inquiry a dead end. ‘So you didn’t have to pick up anyone else’s load, you didn’t get in an accident, but still you’re incredibly late and _something_ happened at work.’

‘Yup.’

‘Are you going to tell me if I keep pressing?’ Tink asks, leaning forward to bump his shoulder gently with hers.

‘Unlikely.’

‘Hmm, maybe I could wait until Noah comes home and get him to ask you.’

Blaine lets out a short derisive laugh. ‘If I won’t tell you, I’m not telling Noah. He won’t care anyway. He’ll only use information as a bargaining tool to persuade us to let Nat move in.’

‘No!’ They say together at the same time, and then laugh, because it seems ridiculous, even to them, that Noah wants his girlfriend of three months to move in with them, into their little apartment with two and a half bedrooms and three people already. Blaine would have no qualms with sharing a bed with Tink, but he has an unfortunate habit of spreading out, and she likes sleeping on the low mattress in the office because it’s a perfect height to collapse onto after a long night drinking, and there’s no heavy wooden panelling to hit your head on.

Tink looks at him for another moment, watching carefully and then she’s standing up and reaching for the liquor cabinet and a glencairn from the top shelf. ‘If you won’t talk, at least have a strong drink.’

‘It’s not even three,’ Blaine responds, glancing at his watch. 

‘Have to start early,’ Tink responds with a wide smile and hands him the shot of whiskey, pouring herself one. ‘To shitty days,’ she says, raising a toast.

‘To shitty days.’

Blaine cradles the drink in his hands, and when she’s not looking, slips into the kitchen to tip it down the sink.

* * *

 

When Kurt arrives home after work, Rachel is dancing around the apartment. Her hands are swinging about the air in graceful loops and her hair, this morning one long braid, is falling apart as she moves. 

‘You’re happy this evening,’ he says as he hangs his bag on the hook beside the draw. He grabs his phone and iPod out, pushing the former into his pocket and positioning the latter on the dock that Rachel has politely left empty. He puts on something sad but simple, and she frowns.

‘Way to be a buzzkill, Kurt.’

‘What?' 

‘In my head I was listening to Shania Twain.’

The _oh_ of acknowledgement falls silently from his lips. 

‘Do you know _why_ I was listening to Shania Twain?’ she asks. She’s stopped moving about now, moving closer to Kurt instead. He knows Shania Twain is her happy day playlist, when something great has happened, and she wants to let the whole world know. But Kurt makes it his mission not to keep track of what Rachel is doing at any point in time, if only for his own sanity and self esteem. 

‘No,’ he says slowly and cautiously. He hopes he hasn’t been told before now, and he’s just pushed it from his memory. ‘Why?’

And then Rachel is smiling, the wide smile she reserves for the moments when her own future seems secured, and she’s wrapping her arms around Kurt’s neck and he’s trying not to look as fed up as he feels. ‘I got the callback!’

_Callback, callback, callback. What audition was she going for again?_

‘For the off-Broadway production of Hair?’

_Right._

‘Wow, Rachel,’ Kurt says, trying to animate his voice as much as possible. ‘That’s great.’

‘Isn’t it! One step closer, Kurt! One step closer!’

It’s then that she realises his lips are downturned at the corners and that his enthusiasm does not reach his eyes. 

‘What’s wrong? Is it about what I said earlier? I wasn’t meaning to offend you, Kurt, the courier probably wasn’t even gay. You know how bad my gaydar is!’

‘He was gay,’ Kurt says, but doesn’t elaborate on how he knows, even though that _sweetheart_ is ringing in his ears. 

‘Oh! Okay, that’s good! So it’s not about him then!’

‘No,’ Kurt says. ‘No, it’s not.’

And although his lie is so obvious, the sarcasm and annoyance building behind it, Rachel doesn’t pick up on it. Because that’s who Rachel is. She drives people mad with her selfishness, and when she’s in a good mood, there is no hope in hell that she’s going to really give a damn about anyone else’s.

So she reaches for Kurt’s iPod and moves it onto something more upbeat and moving, and he pretends he doesn’t mind, instead just moving into his room and taking time to go through his end of day facial routine.

When he lays his head down on the pillow and stares at the ceiling, shoes off, but otherwise still fully dressed, he falls asleep almost instantly, dreaming of the curly dark hair and those caramel eyes that won’t leave the back of his eyelids. 

He wakes up to Rachel rocking him gently.

‘Come on, Kurt. You’ll hate me if I let you sleep the night in your jeans. Plus, the amount of pain you’ll be in tomorrow from compression and lack of circulation to important areas will not put you on my good side.' 

He lets her move him into a suitable position and pull his jeans down his slim legs, not caring that he probably has enough energy to help her. Finally, she tucks the sheets up around his shoulders and kisses him once lightly on the temple before slipping out of his room.

When he falls asleep again, it’s dreamless.


	2. Chapter 2

It seems too early for Blaine to be up, but he’s decided to get a head start on his deliveries in the hope of finishing by midday, even with the outrageous detour towards the man with the blue eyes’ building. When he cycles into the dispatch station, his supervisor hands him his delivery bag, along with a list of items to check off and the addresses to match. He runs his eyes down the list, searching for the entry that would take him across town, but to his surprise, none is there.

‘No deliveries near Broadway and Reade today?’

His supervisor gives him a sideways, confused glance. ‘No, that’s Aaron’s circuit.’

‘Oh.’

‘Why’d you ask?’

He slings his bag over his shoulder and clips his helmet up in one smooth movement. ‘Oh, no reason. I just delivered a package up that way yesterday.’

‘It was in your bag?’

‘Yeah.’ Another swift step and his leg is swung over his bike and he balances with one hand pressed against the concrete wall, reading to move. 

‘Must have fallen in by accident. Get going and stay safe!’ Blaine’s already halfway out the big doorway when he finishes. ‘I don’t want to get involved with a law suit, Blaine! 

The wind bites at his face as he travels, pleasant enough for the average pedestrian, but just that little bit too cold for the fast cyclist that Blaine is. Now that he’s on the road, away from his supervisor and he has time to think, he wonders what he’s going to do.

It had always been his plan to go back and see the man with the blue eyes again, if only to see if his demeanor had been dictated by circumstance, or Blaine’s appearance. He’d thought it would be as easy as doing his job, but now that he’s collected his deliveries, he realises it’s no longer that easy. To see him would mean going out of his way, and today he’d have no excuse. 

He’s just sped out of his first stop off, giving Julia a moment to show him the pictures of her new baby girl, before he’s back on the road and going again. He’s gaining speed, the burn in the back of his calves just starting to set in, when a voice stops him.

‘Wait, courier! _Wait!’_  

She seems in urgent need of attention and it’s obvious to Blaine that she’s referring to him. He pulls his bike to a halt beside a vendor selling bagels and waits for her to catch up. 

‘Yes, ma’am?’

She has a letter in her hand, a crisp white envelope with an address written on the front in flowing cursive. ‘I was wondering if you could deliver this for me.’

Blaine shakes his head sadly, changing his position on his bike. ‘I can’t do pro bono work, sorry,’ he says. ‘You’ll have to take it to the nearest post office. I’m sorry, miss.’

And although the look on her face is disappointment, through and through, he’s had to make this call before. The first time someone stopped him, he took the letter and delivered it, even though it was outside his circuit. It made him late for every other delivery, and his supervisor told him never to let him see it happen again.

But despite that fact, it gives Blaine an idea. An excuse to head past the man with the blue eyes’ office. He could write his own letter and deliver it before lunch, once he’s finished his circuit. It would give him a reason to go upstairs, to meet the man again and step right up to his desk, and then he’d be able to determine if the man was morose at heart, or just an unfortunate victim of a bad day.

He pulls his pen from his pocket and swipes a napkin from the counter of the bagel store and rests both on his knee, writing frantically. 

_Hi, my name’s Blaine. What’s yours?_

He pushes both the pen and the impromptu letter into his pocket and keeps cycling.

* * *

 

Kurt feels much more refreshed this morning. The roadblock at Reade had been removed over night, and his pathway through breakfast and work was not blocked at all. He’d woken up early in preparation for the delay and he arrives at the office ten minutes early, taking the chance to have a moments conversation with Hannah and then just lean back in his chair and relax.

The courier arrives just as he sits down, and it’s not the man with the caramel eyes, but he shoves down his disappointment and signs for the letters, pushing them to the back of the desk as he leans. When the clock passes the hour and he officially starts, he draws them closer and starts sorting, separating the envelopes into “junk”, “wrong address” and “for the boss”. There’s another tube of designs and he gives them a quick glance over before putting them into the “for boss” pile. 

For a moment, he wonders what made yesterday different. Why was there only the one package yesterday, when today there is a thick wad of envelopes. That’s easy enough, Thursday is usually their busiest day for mail, what with the various shows and expos sending details for the weekends events. Why the different courier though? And why was he late?

These are the questions that he can’t answer, and they plague his mind throughout the morning as he cuts colour swatches for the design room and fills out paperwork. It doesn’t seem to matter how hard he tries to ignore them, how much he talks to his workmates or how much he hums under his breath, the questions are still there.

It’s not until just before his lunch break, when he’s sitting down at his desk to check his emails for the second time that day, that his question is answered, and it comes as a surprise.

When he sits down, there’s a man standing in front of his desk; a man with a helmet tucked under arm and an envelope in the other. 

‘Mail,’ the man says lightly.

‘We’ve already had the courier come by today,’ he says, but as he looks up into his eyes, he sees the caramel, and he has a feeling this is no business visit. 

‘Special delivery,’ he says, voice smooth and charming, and when Kurt’s lips perk up at the corners, it is completely out of his own control. 

‘I’ll make sure it gets to its recipient,’ Kurt says, and sits down, slitting the envelope open to determine just who that might be, although he thinks he already knows. _Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart._

Inside the envelope is a folded paper napkin, slightly greasy at the corner and scrawled on in thick sharpie.

_Hi, my name is Blaine. What’s yours?_

‘Kurt,’ he replies, looking up, but the man - Blaine’s - already gone. He presses his fingers into the napkin and tries to convince himself the whole exchange had actually happened.

* * *

 

Blaine passes half his avocado and chicken sandwich to Tink, and she trades with him half of her tomato and cheese toasty. They like this place, with it’s easy atmosphere and unique crowd. The owner, Harry, and his daughter Maryanne, make the best sandwiches in New York, and they always know everyone’s order by heart. Blaine has a medium drip in front of him, steaming gently, while Tink has a lime spider, her normal lunch fare. The cafe is called Mary Has A Caffeine Addiction, and it’s probably Blaine’s favourite place in the entire world.

‘How was your morning?’ Tink asks, biting into the half of Blaine’s sandwich she has now claimed. ‘Better than yesterday I presume, since you’re here on time?’

‘Much,’ Blaine says, and he can’t stop smiling. He can’t blink away that smile that curved up the man with the blue eyes’ lips as he looked at him. _Definitely just a bad day yesterday then._

‘Ready to tell me what happened then?’

And he thinks he is, maybe. This morning had been positive, and it had settled in Blaine’s gut and grown there, spreading out in warmth and ease. He’d go back tomorrow morning, on the pretense of picking up a package, and try and prompt an actual conversation, not just the shy smile he’d managed this morning.

‘Yeah,’ he says to Tink, leaning back in his seat. ‘Yeah, I am.’

‘So? Spill your guts, buddy.’

He takes another bite of sandwich and tells her, tells her of the man with the blue eyes, that seemed to eat at him, stop him from thinking of anything else. How he’d gone back this morning and left his name. How he’d got that small, glorious smile in return. 

‘God, you’re twelve, aren’t you?’ she says with a laugh. Straw in mouth, she takes a long suck, watching him carefully. 

‘What do you mean?’

‘You really think it’s sexy and sauve to drop off a handwritten note to a guy you hardly know? You didn’t even leave an email address or a contact number, how rude.’

‘I wasn’t going for contactability,’ Blaine says defensively. ‘I was going for romantic, elusive.’

‘In high school, and a fan of Disney movies,’ she cuts back. ‘It’s written right on your face.’

‘You can’t deny you’ve watched your fair share of Disney classics. I’ve seen you cry on my shoulder during the Fox and the Hound.’

She doesn’t deny it, simply smirks into her drink. ‘Yeah, but I’m a girl, Blainers.’

* * *

 

Across the street, sitting in the window seat at Starbucks, Kurt pushes the note into Rachel’s hand. He’s been putting off this moment all morning, trying not to agree with himself that it’s necessary, that Rachel’s advice may actually hold true and do him well in this situation. 

Her eyes light up when she sees the note, more so when she reads the words scrawled across it.

‘Is this-’ she gasps, hardly able to get her words out through the excitement. ‘Is this from the bike courier? The one with the cute ass?’

Kurt rolls his eyes but responds. ‘Yes, yes it is. His name is Blaine actually.’

‘Like Casablanca!’ Rachel says with a grin.

‘Mmm.’ He tips his mocha - full cream milk today, as a treat - to the side and watches the flow of the last dregs of chocolate before swilling it and swallowing quickly. ‘But what am I going to do about it?’

‘Do?’ she laughs. ‘Write him something back of course! Similar, not too pushy. And then when he comes past again tomorrow, give it to him.’

‘I can’t do that, Rach-’

‘Why not? He’s clearly started this playful banter between you. Why can’t you finish it?’ She’s completely forgotten the half slice of cheesecake on her plate. 

Kurt bites his lip. ‘Because I’m not that kind of guy, Rachel. I don’t make- I don’t make small talk with random strangers.’

‘But he’s not a random stranger,’ she grins. ‘He’s Blaine.’

‘We’ve met twice.’

‘And he’s left you a love note.’ She pulls the napkin from underneath her plate and presses a pen into his hand. ‘It’s only right of you to return it.’

And before he really realises what he’s doing, he’s scrawling on the note.

_Hi, my name’s Kurt. Nice to meet you._

* * *

 

‘All I’m saying is that maybe you were a little intense.’ 

‘A little intense?’ Blaine echoes hollowly.

‘Yeah. Maybe just- just stop hounding him, alright? Let him make the next move or something.’ Tink talks sense - she always talks sense - and Blaine nods, biting his lip. All his instincts are screaming _argue._ That this guy who he doesn’t even know properly, but has the most beautiful eyes, will want to see him again.

‘You don’t even know his name, Blaine.’

And that’s kind of the problem. If only he knew the man’s name, he could go about things in a more... _adult_ manner. But he was going for elusive, and romantic, and he wasn’t thinking about waiting around to hear his name at the time.

But now he can’t go back. Because all that Tink has said makes sense, and he probably is being too over the top, and being too high schooler. He should just leave it, and maybe something will work out, but if it doesn’t, it’s not the end of the world. Right?

‘Fine,’ he says, draining his coffee cup and leaning back in his chair. ‘I won’t go back tomorrow.’

‘Good boy,’ Tink replies with a sympathetic, but award-winning smile.

* * *

 

Again, Kurt’s running early the next morning. He doesn’t think traffic will be tight again today, but he doesn’t want to take chances, and he wants to be _sure_ he’s there when Blaine arrives. And seeing as he’s not their everyday courier, he has no assurance of when that time will be.

Hannah’s at her desk, and she gives him a bright smile as he passes, pointing with a thumbs up towards the elevator while she calms a caller with impatience issues, which is fully lit up, with no unfortunate signs on its front. Finally, the repairmen have been in to do their job, and he can travel up to his office in relative comfort.

When he arrives at his desk, the mail is already there, delivered on time like it should be, but no accompanying note and he confirms that yes, Blaine is not the proper courier to their building. He sorts the mail into it’s piles and takes the one with designs to his boss, and official things to their business manager.

Then he sits back down at his desk, drawing the little envelope within the napkin in it from his bag and placing it at the top of his keyboard. 

As he’s working his eyes keep traveling back to it. He can’t help it. He considers pulling it out, writing something more eloquent or emotional and stuffing it back into the envelope, but he doesn’t want to over think it, and he hopes that Blaine will just turn up and take the letter before he goes mad.

But there’s no sign of the cute courier with the caramel eyes, and by lunch time, he’s given up hope. He takes the letter with him and throws it in the trash outside Starbucks, trying to stop his hands from shaking.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so my plan is to post a new chapter every weekday and saturday (and give me a day off to catch up on sundays!) so if there's not a new chapter of this, there'll be a new chapter of something on here for you to peruse if you are so interested. :D I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Kurt grips his key between forefinger and thumb, jiggling it slightly to get it to engage with the stiff lock. Finally, the click, and he pushes the door open, steps in. He hates unlocking the door. Normally, Rachel is home before him, cooking dinner - no, attempting to cook dinner - and ready to welcome him home with a smile and a hug. Tonight, she is nowhere to be seen, and there is no note on the kitchen bench to explain.

He drops his bag and coat at the door, not bothering to hang either up and instead reaching towards the refrigerator and pulling out carrot, mushrooms, beef, tomato paste. He could make a basic bolognese with this, throw it on top of some pasta with a bit of parmesan and it would at least be a good meal. Rachel may not appreciate it, with the meat, but its not Kurt’s fault that some days she’s vegetarian and sometimes she’s not, and at least when she attempts to cook, he has an idea of what mood she’s in that day.

He just really hopes she’ll eat and he won’t have wasted his efforts for nothing.

He puts the pasta on to boil and starts cutting up vegetables, putting them in a plastic mixing bowl ready to cook. There’s dry herbs in the pantry, but recently, Rachel got it into her head to buy a planter and grow her own, so he pulls a sprig of thyme from the box, washes it gently, and pulls off the leaves to join the vegetables. 

He’s just sautéing the mince and glancing at the clock on the wall when the door barges open and Rachel steps in, kicking her heels off and dumping her coat right beside Kurt’s in one smooth motion. Her purse lands on the counter and then she’s collapsing onto one of the stools on the other side of the counter and giving Kurt a pleading look.

‘Pour me a glass of wine?’

‘Get it yourself,’ he snaps back, turning to the meal and adding the tomato paste and tinned tomatoes. ‘I’m cooking for us here.’ He reaches into the pantry and grabs the sugar jar, tipping in a large tablespoon to negate the acidity of the tomatoes. 

Rachel still hasn’t moved and when he turns back to her, she’s pressed her chin onto her hands and is looking at him with large pleading eyes. ‘Please?’

‘Eugh, fine.’ He reaches into the fridge, pulls out the bubbly and pours her a glass. He considers one for himself, but he’s not really fond of wine on a good day, and especially not after the day he had. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the pounding headache in the morning, around the feeling that’s settled in his stomach.

Rachel watches him as he cooks, occasionally giving out a word of thanks, and then he’s spooning the sauce over the pasta and handing her a bowl.

‘Thanks, Kurt,’ she says, taking a mouthful with gusto he cannot seem to replicate. Her afternoon, although apparently difficult, was not crappy, and she is simply tired and worn out, not wishing she could curl up in a ball and hide forever. Like Kurt is.

‘No worries,’ he manages and starts eating. It was easier to avoid her gaze when he had the cooking to distract him, but he’s made the mistake of sitting opposite her and now he has no choice but to meet her eye when she smiles and begins the tirade he really should have known was coming as soon as she asked for the glass of wine.

‘So, I told you I was going for the callback today, right?’

 _No,_ he thinks, but says, ‘Yeah, callback. What was that for again?’

‘The little off-broadway production of Guys and Dolls? I mean, it’s not fabulous, but it’s work, right? Thats the important thing.’

Yeah, work. Right. Rachel’s the one who doesn’t do any work, simply calls up her fathers to put more money in her account when she’s running low and Kurt starts insisting she pay her share of the rent. She doesn’t go out and earn a living. She goes out and attends auditions, and hopes to get her dream role, and then goes out drinking with friends, while Kurt spends his day working his butt off to get maybe enough to time to work on a design and show his boss what he can do. 

And then she’s the one who comes home harried and desperate for a drink.

‘But what’s been happening with you?’ she asks, sipping at her champagne. ‘How was cute courier guy?’

Kurt lets out a short dry laugh. ‘Don’t even ask.’

‘That bad, huh? Bit of a creep once you start talking to him? I had a guy like that once, remember? Shaun? He was so sweet and had the cutest ass, but then he just had to go on and on about himself-’

‘That wasn’t it,’ Kurt says, cutting Rachel off with a sharp look that she probably doesn’t even notice, let alone correctly interpret. ‘It was just a lot of bullshit, and I don’t want to talk about it, alright?’

Rachel gives him a sympathetic look, but is already talking again. ‘I had a guy like that once, do you remember? Neill? He was all really pushy at the start, which was okay, because he came after Mark, who was just so _passive,_ but then he started just being a jerk, and I had to dump him then.’

 _She doesn’t even realise what she’s doing,_ Kurt thinks incredulously. _She doesn’t even know how much she talks about herself. And she doesn’t even know what she’s talking about._

He finishes his pasta as quickly as he can, pours himself a glass of water from the sink and swallows it before saying another word in Rachel’s direction. But God, can she keep herself occupied. She’s talking, apparently to him, as he rinses his bowl and drops it into the sink. And even then, as he moves across to the front door to hang up his coat and bag, finally. She doesn’t stop talking until he’s reached the hall towards their bedrooms.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Bed.’

‘So early? But we have so much to talk about!’

He turns back to her with a groan. ‘I just need some space, alright?’ And then before she can say anything, he’s in his room, closing the door behind himself and flopping down onto his mattress fully clothed. All he can do is stare at the roof, and at first it is soothing, the plain white enough to dull his mind. But slowly, it becomes too the same, and his thoughts start reeling back in. 

Rachel has done absolutely nothing to soothe his mind, and still, all he can think about is Blaine, the courier, and his dark caramel eyes, and the way he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there. _He wasn’t there._

He wonders if the churning feeling in his gut will ever go away. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to stop thinking about him.

* * *

 

The door slams behind Blaine as he enters his apartment. Tink is seated on the sofa, legs crossed beneath her and Noah - home for once - is starfished in front of the TV, watching some kind of cheesy horror flick that Blaine is not even remotely interested in. He dumps his shopping bags on the kitchen counter - mostly just the basics, like milk and bread, but a bottle of Smirnoffs for Tink, and a large block of chocolate Blaine is claiming for himself.

He tries to unpack, but only gets the milk into the fridge and the coffee into the pantry before he grabs the block of chocolate and gives up, settling himself beside Tink on the lounge. 

‘You seem moody,’ Tink says, bumping her shoulder into his. ‘I thought we determined this was a good thing?’

‘What’s a good thing?’ Noah asks, but Tink just shakes her head gently and tries to lean against Blaine’s shoulder. He moves to avoid her touch.

‘Come on, Blaine. Don’t be grumpy.’

‘I’m not grumpy.’

‘Of course you’re not grumpy.’ Tink turns her attention to Noah. ‘Hun, is Blaine grumpy?’

‘Yep. Now what’s a good thing?’ Noah’s arm reaches out, fingers snagging around Blaine’s ankle as he tries to lift his foot away. 

‘Nothing.’ Blaine’s lips form a thin line. He wrenches his foot out of Noah’s grasp and draws it up underneath his thigh. 

‘It is totally not nothing, Blaine,’ Noah says with a snort.

‘He got himself a cute boy,’ Tink clarifies. ‘But he was more than a little intense, and it was a very good thing that he decided to give the guy some space.' 

‘You mean, you guilt tripped me into giving him some space.’

‘You were getting in over your head, and he was going to run away, we both know it. It’s better that you keep your distance for a while, give him some time, and then go back when things are calmer.’

Blaine growls, low in his throat, and turns to her with a scowl. ‘I don’t even know his name.’

‘Good. Less to get concerned about. He could have been a creeper and you would have never known.’

Noah pauses his movie and curls up his legs to shuffle his way over to the sofa, tapping Blaine kindly on the knee. ‘You’ll be fine, buddy.’

‘Yeah, this will turn out for the best, Blaine,’ Tink echoes his sentiments. ‘Give it a few days and you’ll-’

But Blaine is having none of it. ‘I’ll _see?_ Is that what you were going to say? Because I don’t think so. If I feel this crap right now, I’m not going to be feeling any better in a “day or two”. I should have gone and seen him, just asked him out for coffee or something. That’s not too intense, and at least there would be _something.’_

‘You’re just impatient, Blaine.’

* * *

 

Rachel’s knock on the door is hesitant. Kurt yells for her to go away, but she opens the door anyway, and he frowns until he sees the cup of steaming chai tea in her hand. 

‘I brought you a present.’

He rolls over, looks her over once, but she isn’t saying anything else, her vocals chords do not appear poised to bombard his eardrums, and so he taps the bed with the palm of his hand and encourages her to sit down while he pushes himself up against the headboard.

‘Thank you,’ he tells her, and he really means it. Chai tea is his favourite beverage, especially for days like these, when he can’t decide whether he wants to punch in a wall or simply sob. 

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ she asks him, hooking her legs up beside her and leaning her weight against her hand. Kurt sips his tea and thinks before he speaks. 

‘I thought he would be there today, just for long enough that I could tell him my name, maybe give him my phone number. Anything.’ Rachel is looking at him with her big wide eyes, but she doesn’t interrupt. ‘And then there’s nothing, he’s not there. The normal delivery guy comes past, but nothing special. No Blaine.’

She gives him a smile, small and slightly sad, and runs her hand up and down his thigh in a way that he is sure she intends to be reassuring, although it falls slightly short of the mark. 

‘It’s okay though,’ Kurt says after a gulp of hot tea. ‘It’s not like I’m a stranger to heartbreak. I did think coming to New York would solve many of my relationship woes, but I guess I’m just meant for someone I haven’t met yet.’ He doesn’t believe in fate or true love, but when he spouts it to Rachel, he could almost convince himself.

‘Are you sure you’re going to be alright?’

He gives her a wan smile. ‘I’m going to be fine, Rachel. Thank you.’ 

She stands up, gives him a one armed hug and leaves him to his tea. For the first time in a long while, he almost wishes just for her company.

* * *

 

‘Here,’ Tink says, offering Blaine a coloured plastic shot glass. It’s already filled with vodka, right to the brim, and the bottle is in her hands. ‘Come on, get a bit of buzz into you and you won’t even think about it.’

He doesn’t normally drink with Tink, and especially not shots. She can hold her liquor well, and Blaine most definitely cannot, as anyone he has ever drank with can contest to. But this seems different. There’s no competition, and if there is something that will get rid of the unending guilt in his brain, he might as well take it. 

He grabs the glass and swigs back the shot. It’s strong, but not the most unpleasant he’s tasted. He only crinkles his nose for a moment before grinning, the response he is sure she wants. But she’s already refilling the little plastic cup, and he knows this isn’t a good idea, but leaving the man alone today had seemed like a good idea, and that had only ended in disaster.

He grabs the cup and drinks again.

‘Let’s get smashed!’ he calls out to the room at large.

* * *

 

His brain is pounding when he wakes up the next morning, but he needs to work, so he stands up quickly and presses his palm into his forehead to relieve the dizziness. The taste of vodka is still strong in his mouth. 

He shuts his alarm off and grabs his work clothes, giving himself a lengthy spray of deodorant before slipping into the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth. His mouth tastes foul. Two spits, three and he considers himself almost work-worthy. He grabs his key for the bike shed off it’s hook above his dresser and walks into the living room on one leg as he pulls his shoe onto the other foot.

‘Bye, Noah!’ he calls out. ‘Bye, Tink!’ It isn’t surprising at all that no one replies. 

He’s already halfway out the door when the pain in his head registers again and he remembers that he should take painkillers. Without them, the cold wind and exercise would only result in migraines. He downs two pills with a large glass of water, but he’s doubtful as to how quickly they’re going to kick in.

With a quick glance around the room to check for anything he may have missed, Blaine’s eyes fall on the vodka bottle. It’s still open, releasing it’s fumes into the air and he swears he can smell it.

‘Hair of the dog,’ he murmurs to himself and swigs the bottle back. It tastes considerably worse than it did last night, but he screws his face up and swallows it down and then it’s over and he almost slams the door behind him in his haste to get to the bike shed and off to work. 

* * *

 

Kurt is sitting at his desk, sorting through the mail - no Blaine, though he really wasn’t expecting anything - when the knock on the door comes, too heavy and too insistent. He raises his head to catch the eyes of the rude interrupter and falls on Blaine. Of course it’s Blaine.

His eyes are rimmed with red and he smells like too much alcohol and Kurt wonders for a moment how he ever got out of bed to get to work, let alone be allowed to complete his rounds. But a messenger bag is over his shoulder with a company label, _Hardy Delivery._  

‘Hey,’ he says with a warm smile, against his better judgement. Blaine is leaning against the door jam and he gives a lopsided smile in return.

‘Hey, you. I-’ he stutters. ‘Um- I wanted to-’

And Kurt can’t help but interrupt. ‘Are you drunk?’ 

Blaine’s eyes go wide, and for a moment Kurt thinks he’s about to say no, but instead he says nothing, presses a hand into his forehead and grimaces. ‘Um-’

‘Isn’t that a little unprofessional?’

But that makes him angry, his eyes suddenly wide, and maybe it was a wrong idea to aggravate the drunken courier. Blaine bites his lip, eyes narrowing and snaps, ‘As if any of this is professional!’

‘I didn’t say it was, but you’re on the-’ He tries to say “job”, but Blaine is already turning away, gripping his messenger bag between hands shaky with alcohol. 

‘I only wanted to say hi. I wanted to talk to you again, that’s all.’ His voice is low, a mix of upset and angry, and he drags his lip between his teeth. ‘Thanks for nothing.’

‘Hey!’ Kurt tries to stop him, but he’s behind a desk, and sitting down and even as he stands, Blaine is already out the door and gone and all he can do is call after him, but it’s already too late. ‘My name’s Kurt!’ he yells, but he’s already too far gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Blaine slams the door to his apartment, throwing his keys across the room and watching as they slam into the wall and leave a pockmark in the plaster. His hands are shaking and he can’t think straight and he thinks he might finally be sober, for the first time since last night. 

‘Hey, buddy,’ Tink says with a smile as she emerges from her room. Her tone is lazy, calm, but Blaine feels anything but and he shakes his head at her, unable to even move his feet.

‘Why did you let me get drunk?’ he almost yells. 

‘You wanted it. You asked for it.’ Her lips turn downward in the slightest of frowns. ‘What happened?’

‘I went to work drunk! That’s what happened! I almost threw up in the middle of Times Square and I went to see the cute guy at the fashion office.’ He fades off to nearly a whisper. 

‘You did _what?’_

He scowls. ‘Yeah, well, it didn’t end good anyway. He told me I was _unprofessional,_ and guess what? He was really right!’ Blaine opens the refrigerator with heavy hands, slamming the door back against the bench. The milk carton is hanging half out of the door and he grabs it to take a long swig. 

‘Don’t drink from the-’

‘I don’t _care!’_ He takes another gulp before replacing the cap and shoving it back into it’s position between the juice and Tink’s diet pepsi. ‘You screwed this up for me, and I know I’d probably screw it up anyway, but at least I would have screwed it up sober!’

‘Hey,’ Tink says gently, reaching out a hand to capture his elbow. ‘Hey.’

Blaine shrugs her off and kicks off his shoes, tossing them towards the front door. ‘I’ll be in my room if there’s an apocalypse,’ he mutters angrily and slams the door behind him.

His guitar is sitting beside his bed on it’s stand, dust collecting across the top of the body and along the frets. When he’d first moved to New York, he’s made it his intention to play every day, but work and college had gotten in the way and his guitar had fallen into disuse. He picked it up gingerly, blowing against the frets to clear the dust before settling it on his knee and beginning to play.

By the time he goes to bed, his fingers are red raw, and he can feel the blood pulsing beneath the nails.

* * *

 

‘I’m really worried about him, Rachel,’ Kurt says as he pushes his coat over the hook by the front door. ‘He looked like he was going to puke, and I think he thinks I hate him. I don’t hate him, not at all, I was even going to offer him a cup of tea and-’

Rachel’s eyebrows have risen to high on her forehead. ‘Wait, who are we talking about?’

‘Blaine! The courier!’

Her mouth falls into a round ‘oh’ and she nods slightly. ‘Of course.’

‘What do you mean, of course?’ Kurt’s eyes narrow in her direction. 

‘Well, you would never talk so fast or so loud about anyone else. Kurt Hummel doesn’t talk fast or loud.’ She grabs a block of chocolate from the bottom drawer beneath the stove and tosses it across the bench to him. ‘Eat up, love bird.’

‘So tell me,’ she says as he settles down on the couch, unwrapping the chocolate block and popping a row into his mouth without breaking it apart. His cheek bulges with the sugar. ‘What exactly happened, because all I know is that he probably hates you.’ 

Kurt takes a few bites, breaking the chocolate into smaller pieces and then swallows heavily. Once his mouth is cleared, he starts talking, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to stop.

‘Well, I was working and doing what I was supposed to be doing and our mail had already been delivered so I never expected to see him and then he’s there - of course he’s there! - but he looks really drunk and I kind of called him out on it and then he got angry and he was just there to talk to me, God, I could have talked to him but I had to practically parent him for being drunk on the job and-’

‘God, calm down!’ Rachel says laughing. ‘Were you like this at the time? No wonder he freaked out!’

Kurt takes a deep breath, rocks his head back so it’s sitting on the headrest of the sofa. ‘I wasn’t. I told him it was unprofessional. And I don’t think he liked that one bit.’ His voice is low, soft, and Rachel frowns. 

‘Oh, Kurt. Why couldn’t you have just ignored that he was drunk and said hi?’

‘I went to introduce myself! But he’d already ran off! It wasn’t like I was controlling what was coming out of my mouth, otherwise it _wouldn’t_ have ended in a fight.’ He takes another bite of chocolate, but makes it small enough to chew this time. ‘He’ll probably never come back.’

Rachel says nothing. She doesn’t want to lie to him. 

‘But,’ Kurt says finally. ‘I do know what company he works for. If that would help at all.’

Her eyes brighten and she leans forward in her chair. ‘Of course it could help! They’ll have employee records, and we can track him down! I’ll go see them tomorrow, it will be as easy as pie!’ Nevermind the fact that she has never made a successful pie before. ‘What’s the name?’

Kurt gives it to her, but he doesn’t feel confident. Rachel has proven herself fond of thinking she has magnificent ideas, which almost always end in failure. He takes another bite of chocolate and sighs. ‘Can you make dinner tonight?’ he asks, giving her what he hopes constitutes a smile.

‘Of course!’

Kurt doesn’t tell her it ends up tasting like charcoal and nothing else.

* * *

 

The delivery offices are on the third floor of a popular business building and despite the long row of elevators along one wall, Rachel has to wait three minutes to find a way up. She doesn’t start class till eleven, but she can already feel the clock ticking over and her time slipping away. She thought it would be simple to walk into these offices, find Blaine the courier’s details and get out of there. 

But even as she makes her way to reception, it feels harder than she imagined. There’s a long line of couriers collecting their packets for delivery and she feels out of place, around so many muscled men in tight clothing and helmets. 

She smiles at one just leaving the line, with curly brown hair and chocolate eyes and he’s cute but he only gives her a polite smile in return and she keeps wriggling her way up the line to the front counter.

Finally, she is there and she smiles at the receptionist and asks in her friendliest tone, ‘I was looking for one of your couriers, Blaine. I just wanted to have a word with him about a couple of parcels that were dropped in at-’ 

‘You could have just called,’ the girl says, almost angry that Rachel has interrupted her flow of work. ‘But he just passed you three minutes ago on his way out the door. The one with the curls?’

 _Shit._ Rachel had known he was familiar, at least in the back of her mind. She calls out a thanks that she doesn’t really mean as she sprints back out into the corridor to find an elevator.

The last one in the row is thankfully free and she runs to it, pressing the button for the lobby with shaky fingers. And then she’s there and there he is, just walking out the big glass doors and grabbing his bike and she runs and her heels are wobbly beneath her but she grabs his arm, just before he rides off. 

‘Excuse me,’ she says, taking in a deep breath as he turns. ‘Blaine?’

He raises an eyebrow but says only, ‘Yes?’

‘I have this for you.’ She hands over a piece of notepaper that Kurt had scrawled on earlier, at her insistence. _My name’s Kurt. Sorry for calling you unprofessional. I didn’t mean it._ Beneath the words was his number.

‘Kurt,’ Blaine whispers, almost like an echo. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘He’s my best friend. My roommate.’ Rachel grins. She’s found him. She’s found him! ‘He saw the company name on your bag and he had to go to work, but I offered to hunt you down and then here I am!’ Her smile is wide and she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘Let’s talk! Coffee?’ There’s a Starbucks across the road and it’s not her Starbucks but she nods her head in that direction anyway. 

‘This is such bad timing,’ Blaine says, shaking his head in what Rachel hopes is disbelief. ‘I’m supposed to be working.’

‘You can do that this afternoon! I won’t keep you long.’ She gives a hopeful quirk of her lips and then Blaine is grinning too.

‘Fine, but not Starbucks.’

‘Where are we going instead?’ Rachel asks.

‘I know a place.’

* * *

 

The mail has arrived and Kurt has sorted it into separate neat piles, one for boss, one for trash, and one for finance. It’s easy enough work, but his mind isn’t on the job. Instead, he’s thinking about Rachel and her excited smile as he walked out the door that morning. ‘I’ll find him for you!’ she had said.

He slips his cell out of his pocket and holds it below his desk. Quickly, he dials her number and then holds it up to his ear, resting the device between his ear and shoulder to be less conspicuous. The dial tone rings, again and again and again and then finally he hears her voice, ‘Hi, you’ve called Rachel!’ and he realises he’s on voicemail. 

‘Shit,’ he whispers under his breath and tucks his cellphone back into his pocket.

* * *

 

‘So he wanted to contact me? Really?’ 

The girl across from him has a wide happy smile, the kind that comes from being impossibly enthusiastic about something, and he’s never seen someone as enthusiastic as her, and especially not about contacting a courier. Or even the mysterious stranger in her best friend’s life. 

‘Of course! Have you looked at yourself in a mirror? You have these eyes that are just kind of deep and sugar-coated sweet, and you’re obviously very fit, with all the bike riding you do and if I wasn’t looking out for my best friend, I would tap that.’

‘I’m gay.’

‘I know, but so are a lot of the boys at drama school.’ She sipped at her coffee delicately and Blaine watched her carefully, wishing she would get to the point of what he really wanted to hear. _Kurt._

That was his name, Kurt. It was as simple as breathing, and it rolled off his tongue even as he spoke it in his mind. And he’d wanted to see him again. He’d _held out_ to see him again, and Tink had gone and ruined everything, and maybe Blaine had quite a bit to do with it, but if it had been only him, he would have been there every day.

‘Does he- he doesn’t hate me?’ he asks once again, just to clarify. 

‘He thought _you_ hated _him._ You were the one that had yelled a little, and was drunk and maybe wasn’t too pleased to see him-’

Blaine had to interrupt her at that, he had to. ‘It was my roommate that got me drunk. She thought it would be better for me. It was her that told me to stay clear of Kurt too.’ _Kurt, Kurt, Kurt._ ‘She thought I was being too high school romance-y.’

‘Kurt never had a high school romance.’

‘Oh.’ He doesn’t know whether she means it to be sad or simply a statement of facts. 

‘I’ve always told him he needs to put his heart out there more, but I think he wants someone to sweep him off his feet.’ She takes another sip of her coffee and grins at him. ‘You’ve definitely got him windswept.'

‘Really?’

‘Of course. The first night he came home blown away, even though his day had all round been horrible. And then the next day, when you didn’t come back, he was as mopey as a sad duck. And then when you came back drunk and he thought he’d ruined everything he was just mad at himself. I don’t think he slept well at all, but I said I’d try to find you. I don’t think he thought I’d succeed but here we are, so there you go!’

‘Here we are,’ Blaine echoes.

‘Do you like him?’ she asks. He doesn’t feel at like he has got used to her obtrusive, inquisitive nature, and he wonders for a moment how Kurt ever puts up with her, but then he realises he’s thinking about Kurt like he knows him well, and stops himself.

‘I thought he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Have you ever looked into his eyes?’

‘God, what is it with you men and eyes!’ She sighs dramatically and takes another happy sip. 

‘I-’ Blaine shakes his head and smiles and tips his head back. ‘I’m sorry I was such an ass.’

‘You weren’t an ass. You just were both very hasty and it was against the better judgement of everyone involved,’ she says. 

‘Maybe you should tell my roommate all this,’ he laughs. ‘She gives horrible advice.’

‘Kurt says that I do, too, so maybe don’t trust either of us.’ But she’s grinning and Blaine smiles back too, warm and easy. _Kurt, Kurt, Kurt._ ‘He wants to see you again,’ she says softly.

‘I want to see him again.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m here. Tell me what you want to tell him, and I will deliver your message. I know your haunt, I know where to find you, and somehow, I’m going to make sure you two get all the opportunities you need to get this to work.’

‘Are you setting us up, Rachel Berry?’ he asks.

She grins, and takes a final gulp of her drink, swigging it back heavily. ‘No, I’m giving you the opportunity to set yourselves up.’ She pushes the scrap of paper Kurt had written on closer, motions for Blaine to put the number in his phone and when she does, hands him a pen from her purse. ‘Now write your message, lover boy, and I’ll let you get back to work.’

_I’m sorry for being a hungover ass? Expect plans in the near future._

He doesn’t leave his number.

* * *

 

Rachel’s face is smug when Kurt walks through the door, incredibly pleased with herself. ‘I assume you found him?’ he asks.

‘Of course I found him. It was easy. I gave him your number.’ She wriggles her shoulders with excitement. ‘And he left you a message.’

Kurt is almost concerned at how fast he reaches her spot on the counter, grasping for the small slip of paper she folds out. It has his own words written on it and underneath, in the same neat cursive the first note had been written, a new message. He presses it to his chest and tucks it into his pocket.

‘Be still my weeping heart!’ he laughs, and Rachel laughs too, standing up to wrap her arms around his waist in excitement. When she finally lets him go after three spins around the kitchen, he draws the note from his pocket again and reads it over with a grin. ‘Wait,’ he says after a moment. ‘What kind of plans?’

Rachel shrugs. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I thought it would be more romantic if it was a surprise, and you know how bad I am at keeping my mouth shut.’ 

‘That’s definitely true,’ Kurt replies. His thumb runs gently over the words as he smiles. ‘He didn’t leave you a number.’

‘No, but he took yours. I think he’ll call you.’

‘Or text.’ 

‘Call is more romantic.’

‘But he’s a boy, Rachel.’

She shakes her head at him, laughing as she backs towards the couch, flopping onto it with a grin and a cackle of laughter. ‘But he was the most romantic boy I’ve ever met! If he was straight, I would be gathering him up like Valentine’s day candy!’

Kurt grins into the palm of his hand and tries not to show the world how happy he is.

* * *

 

Tink finds Blaine face down on his bed, notebook out in front of him and phone pressed tight to his ear. He’s waiting on a line, and as she watches he is connected. He mumbles out a few words of instruction, some thanks and then is hanging up. 

‘Evening,’ he says to her, smiling.

‘Wow, you’re bright today.’

‘It was a good day.’

‘I can tell.’ She leans against the door jam, crossing her arms. ‘Did you get a blow job from a random stranger?’

‘No, I met Kurt’s best friend.’

‘Kurt?’

‘The guy from the fashion office.' 

‘Of course.’ She gives him a wan smile, but he is too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice it. ‘Want my advice?’ 

‘Not at all.’ 

‘Okay then, lover boy. I’ll leave you to it.’ She watches him fondly, the way his eyes are bright and shining and his hands move with the pen and his notebook, desperately creating something that is filling his heart with joy. She’s never had a little brother, but she thinks having Blaine might be a very close thing.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s sunlight filtering in through the crack in the curtain and Kurt groans into his pillow, rolling over to avoid the glare. His fingers curl into the sheets and the stitching on the pillow is digging into his cheek but he doesn’t care. He’d been having the _best_ dream.

The slip of notepaper with Blaine’s handwriting on it had embedded itself in his mind, and he had been unable to sleep for hours, tossing and turning until finally he’d started a compilation of classical pieces on his iPod that lulled him into a near sleep state. Even as he dreamed he thought about Blaine, about the memory of his caramel eyes and the flirtatious quirk of a smile that had adorned his face that first time he’d entered the office.

Groaning, he reaches over to his cell, lifting the phone up to check the time. It’s late enough that he probably should be up, showering and eating breakfast, but the part that catches his attention is the little icon for a new message. He swipes and brings up the details, from an unknown number.

 _Ask Rachel about Mary. She’ll know._  

Mary? He tosses off his sheet lazily, slipping out of bed and padding out to the living room with measured steps, though his heart is thrumming. 

‘Who’s Mary?’ he asks when he sees Rachel at the bench, already sipping orange juice from a tall glass and spinning her spoon through a bowl of cereal. She laughs once, covering her nose and mouth with her hand as milk and juice almost sprays everywhere.

‘Maybe the question you should be asking,’ she says, when she’s finally calmed down, ‘is _where_ is Mary?’

‘Where?’ he echoes. ‘What do you mean, where?’

She laughs again, though much more refined this time. She slides off her stool, reaching into the fridge for the orange juice and filling a glass for Kurt before refilling her own. ‘Mary is a cafe opposite our usual Starbucks haunt. It’s a great little place, and Blaine’s favourite coffee joint.’

‘Coffee?’ Kurt echoes again. ‘He’s taking me for coffee?’

‘You like coffee.’

‘I know I like coffee. But a coffee date seems very anticlimatic.’ 

Rachel gives him a sideways grin. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll have something else planned too. I can’t imagine he’d leave it with just coffee. I mean, you can talk over coffee, but it’s over in fifteen minutes.’ She pushes the glass of juice across the table at him. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready?’

It’s then that Kurt realises the message gave him no time to be at “Mary”. 

‘I don’t know what time I’m supposed to be there.’

‘If he didn’t tell you, he had a way for you to know. Just get dressed and go. I’ll have some toast ready for you when you get out of the shower.’ It’s like she’s pushing him towards the cafe as they speak, and he gives her a small frown before downing the juice in one large gulp and turning back towards his bedroom to try and select something to wear. 

* * *

 

Two more mouthfuls of cheerios and his breakfast is finished. He pushes the bowl to the middle of the table and presses a number into his phone with furious speed. This is his fifth call this morning, and if one more person puts him on hold to see if they have what he is after, he might have to throw his bowl at someone. 

‘Wow, what’s got into you?’ Tink asks as she spins his bowl the rest of the way into the sink. The pile is growing and that’s just one more job Blaine needs to do this morning to make it all right. 

‘Sh, I’m making a call.’ 

‘I can tell. Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?’

He looks up at her, cell still pressed to his ear. ‘Not particularly.’ 

‘What’s going on, Blaine?’ She fiddles with the cup of tea in front of her. ‘Tell me you haven’t done something you’re going to regret.’

‘Of course not,’ he replies, giving her a quick grin that quickly turns to a frown when he realises he’s been put on hold once more. ‘Damn you, just give me my damn picnic basket,’ he murmurs to himself. To Tink, he says, ‘I’m trying to organise a date. Would you and Noah be able to leave the place by midday and not come back till tomorrow?’ 

She raises her eyebrows at that, leaning forward on the counter. ‘Are you telling me you’re getting some tonight?’

Blaine shakes his head, almost laughing with it. ‘It’s a first date, Tink. No sex. But no roommates would also be great.’

She sighs dramatically and downs the last cold dregs of her tea. ‘I’ll be gone.’

‘Thank you!’ He stands up, giving her a one armed hug as he keeps his phone pressed to his ear. ‘You’re the best.’

‘I know I am. I still don’t think you should be pushing this guy too far, but if you think you know what you’re doing I’m not going to-’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ he cut her off. ‘If I get answers from this damn cafe, I’ll be almost completely prepared. Can you do one big favor for me while I get dressed?’ He shoots her a hopeful look.

‘What?’ Tink sighs again.

‘Dishes?’

‘Sure thing, Blainey, whatever you need.’ She hangs her head tiredly and shuffles across the sink to begin cleaning up the breakfast bowls and last nights mess. ‘But you owe me, buddy.’

‘I owe you?’ Blaine laughs. ‘You were the one that made me hungover for work. I think this calls us even.’ He shoots her a grin and turns towards his bedroom, finally being connected through to the line. ‘Great!’ he asys into the receiver. ‘Thank you so much. Yes, I’ll write the number down, one second.’

* * *

 

Blaine’s not there when Kurt arrives at the cafe. It’s a quaint, cosy little place, with two long displays of freshly baked cakes and a small cupboard filled with various teas for purchase. He selects a table and sits down, trying to find a position that best shows off his outfit without being uncomfortable.

It had taken him an hour, but he’d finally settled on snug worn-denim jeans that clung to his legs but left enough room in the crotch to be unimposing, and a grey fitted sweater that he knew was good for his shoulders. He finished it off with mid-calf boots and a red coat and he thought it was kind of perfect. Understated, not too flashy, and unlikely to scare Blaine off. But still it had enough flare that his fashion background was clear, though Blaine already knew about that part, at least. Rachel had approved of the outfit, with pleased nods and excited hugs.

He crosses his legs under the table, leaning back into the corner. It was a little table, just for the two of them, but Blaine was still not here, and Kurt was starting to get worried. Maybe he was supposed to wait until the afternoon. Maybe Blaine was still at work, and he would arrive here for afternoon tea and Kurt will have waited since breakfast.

The waitress comes over with a takeaway cup, though he hadn’t ordered, and places it down in front of him. 

‘I didn’t order anything,’ he says, shaking his head.

‘It was ordered for you. Kurt, right?’

‘Yeah- yes,’ he stutters out. ‘That’s me.’

‘Then it’s your drink.’ She gives him a warm smile before returning behind the coffee bar, and he picks up the drink in both hands. It’s warm against his cool skin and he leans into it, sipping at the drink delicately. Non-fat mocha, just what he’d order himself. He fingers the indentations in the cup and then lifts it up, examining it. Scrawled on the protector is a little note, in Blaine’s neat handwriting.

_Rachel mentioned this x_

He glanced around the cafe, searching for Blaine’s eyes, but the girl behind the counter is laughing softly to herself and he looks back to the drink, taking another sip. 

An ‘x’. What was an ‘x’ supposed to mean? Kisses? That seemed strangely intimate for a first date. But maybe it was Blaine’s normal sign off when he wrote notes to people he hardly knew.

He sips at the coffee and leans back into his chair and hopes Blaine will be turning up soon to explain everything.

* * *

 

‘Bye, Tink!’ Blaine calls out, grabbing his helmet from the hook beside the door. ‘I’m going now!’ 

He sees her in the office, pulling together her things to make an overnight bag. ‘I hope you have a good day, Blaine, no matter how ridiculous I think this all is.’

‘Just because you don’t go in for romantic first dates.’

‘Just because I’m not in high school.’ She grins at him, and he returns it, grabbing the key for his bike lock. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, lover boy.’ 

‘Don’t be home early!’

‘I won’t be!’

He grabs his bag and closes the door behind himself, grin still high on his face as he grabs his bike from the lock up and pedals hard across the city to Mary and Kurt.

* * *

 

He mustn’t be coming. That’s clearly what’s going on. He’s leading Kurt on and he’ll be sitting for hours and then he still won’t be here, and Kurt will go home angry and complain to Rachel and today will just be another day wasted, like so many of them. That’s clearly how it’s going to end.

His second coffee (also on the house, according to the waitress) is down to the last dregs and he swallows it, disheartened. He feels like he’s been here forever, and he knows its only been just over half an hour, but dates aren’t supposed to be spent by yourself in a cafe, are they?

Kurt looks over to the girl behind the counter. There’s only a couple of other people in the store, and she’s currently having an easy morning. When she catches him looking, she gives him a smile, one that says _Just a little bit longer,_ and _I’m sorry, but he is always late for everything._ He leans back into his chair and sighs again.  

He’s just about to toss the coffee cups in the bin, having slipped the protector from the first and tucking it into his bag, when he hears the tinkle of the door and looks up. He is lugging a bike behind him, squeezing it through the small door and shaking his damp curls. He pulls off his helmet and passes the bike around the counter to the waitress, who tucks it into her corner of the room and motions to Kurt’s table.

Blaine hadn’t even looked, though Kurt had a feeling he knew he was there. When his eyes make contact, they are light and pleased, and filled with what seems to Kurt to be hope. ‘Thanks, Rosie,’ he hears Blaine say to the waitress and then he’s stepping across the cafe, hair wet from what Kurt originally thought was sweat, but turns out to be a recent shower, and low riding jeans comfortable on his hips.  

‘I have a message,’ Blaine says softly, only loud enough for Kurt to hear, ‘for Kurt Hummel. My name’s Blaine Anderson, and I wanted to know if he’d like to go on a date today?’ He smiles, and that’s definitely hope there, and he’s holding out his hand. Kurt had been half a standing a moment ago, but he had since fallen back into his chair out of shock. Blaine’s hand, held welcomingly out in front of him finally prompts him to stand and he takes it gently.

‘Of course,’ he laughs. ‘I feel like I should curtsey.’ He gives a little bow and Blaine returns the laugh, smile wide and even if Kurt had only seen this man twice in his life - once while hungover - he feels like the most familiar person in the world.

‘Well, come with me then.’ Blaine let’s Kurt’s fingers fall, but waits for him as he rises and then leads him out of the store, smile never leaving his face. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I didn't get a chance to post yesterday what with seeing all my relatives and workmates for a last goodbye before I move away to Uni tomorrow! And there probably won't be an update tomorrow what with the moving and all. But the final chapter will be posted on Monday!

Kurt is very mindful of the distance between them. With each step he keeps himself measured, the distance perfectly calculated so as not to be too suffocatingly close, too imposing, but close enough that they are walking _together._

Blaine doesn’t seem to notice Kurt’s agony over their positioning, simply walking as he feels, though never reaching for Kurt’s hand again. He walks casually, with his arms swinging slightly, and he looks confident, though there’s a small skip in his step that let’s Kurt know that he’s thinking too hard. At least he’s not the only one.

The street is kind of crowded, and Kurt doesn’t know where they’re headed. He keeps a tight eye on Blaine’s footsteps, the turn of his body, and he doesn’t see the lady with the pram till the last minute. She’s trying to take the inside of the footpath, closest to the stores, and her large pram and gaggle of kids that follow behind don’t quite fit between the other pedestrians. She is obviously a tourist, trying to hold her little family of children together, and Kurt feels almost sorry for. 

He shifts out of her way, and in doing so ends up right next to Blaine, hands catching, and then Blaine’s hand is fitting around his and their fingers linking together, closer than the small touch of hands in the cafe. He is scared for a moment, scared to touch, scared to lean into it, but Blaine presses their shoulders together as he dodges another pedestrian and he only glances to Kurt for a quick smile before continuing as if it is the most comfortable thing in the world.

 ‘Um, where exactly are we going?’ Kurt asks as Blaine leads him round a corner and into a new street. He’s not familiar with this part of town, but Blaine seems to be.

He leans into Kurt’s shoulder, nudging him softly without speaking and then points. Halfway down the block is a large sprawling park, with children’s play equipment and a large garden. 

‘I wanted something special,’ Blaine says softly, ‘for our first date, seeing as I ruined our second meeting.’ His grip on Kurt’s hand tightens slightly, and Kurt can feel the blood thrumming across his thumb, the ba-bump of it. ‘It’s probably too childish, but we can talk here, and get to know each other. I mean, of course it’s too childish, we can go somewhere el-’

Kurt laughs, high and wicked and uses his grip on Blaine’s hand to drag him along. ‘A park?’ They run, Blaine straggling only just behind Kurt in his hesitance, but Kurt only drops his hand when they reach the empty swing, jumping onto it with both feet and gripping the chains. His head almost grazes the metal frame but he laughs again, unable to stop and Blaine pushes against his lower back to move the swing.

‘I haven’t been on one of these since I was a kid!’ Kurt calls loudly over his shoulder and leans into Blaine’s touch. It is like flying, being on this swing, with Blaine’s arms warm and careful on his back, guiding, and his laughter in his ear. It’s like flying with his best friend.

* * *

 

Blaine’s arm loops around the metal handle of the old merry-go-round, leaning into Kurt’s shoulder in comfortable conversation. The merry-go-round isn’t spinning, save for the small movements his foot makes against the tanbark. 

‘So I think we’ve officially proven that five years in the city doesn’t have to make anyone cold, and jobs are extremely hard to come by.’ 

‘New York City at it’s finest,’ Kurt laughs. ‘I’d hate to see it at it’s worst.’

‘My roommate, Tink, says she has, but I doubt it. She just does what she wants and does it well. And what she wants to do a lot of the time is get drunk and absolutely nothing else.’ Blaine accompanies the statement with a small grin, almost to himself and they both jump as a young boy jumps onto the other side of the merry-go-round, making it spin a couple of feet they weren’t expecting. Kurt slides, almost off the platform, and Blaine reaches out quickly to snag his waist, altogether too unexpected, and too intimate, but he doesn’t pull away. 

It seems they have done a lot of this, this back and forward of banter and back and forward of touches, close and then pulling away in a movement they both hope is natural, if only to avoid the other from feeling the rapid beating of their hearts.

‘Come on,’ Blaine says as the platform is spun once more, starting to gain speed as the boy’s friends join him. ‘Let’s get out of here before we get stuck.’ Together, they climb off the merry-go-round, Blaine’s arm still around Kurt’s waist, and he leads the pair of them out of the park and into the sprawling gardens surrounding it. 

The gardens are beautiful, filled with deep garden beds of beautiful flowers. They pass hydrangeas and hyacinths and frangipanis, and Kurt stops them occasionally, to bend and smell the luscious scent. But Blaine is distracted, searching for something, and although his arm stays on the small of Kurt’s back, he doesn’t watch him as he moves, and he doesn’t listen with full attentiveness to the small-talk.

‘Blaine, is something going on?’ Kurt asks, words biting in Blaine’s thoughts. Kurt’s hand is reaching behind his own back, catching Blaine’s and squeezing. ‘You’re out of it.’

‘Sorry,’ he says quickly. ‘I’m looking for something.’

‘Looking for something?’ 

‘Yep. It should be here somewhere.’ Blaine moves a little faster then, between the trees and flowerbeds, pulling Kurt behind him. ‘If it’s not here, I’m not going to be very-’ It’s then that he sees it, and so does Kurt, a large picnic basket, resting on an empty blanket under a large drooping willow.

‘Oh,’ Kurt says softly, the tension easing throughout his body. ‘Blaine, you didn’t have to-’

‘Of course I did. This is the date I’ve planned, remember?’ He leads him gently across the last patch of lawn before pulling him down softly onto the mat. ‘Lunch?’ he asks with a grin.

* * *

 

They eat chicken and avocado sandwiches, others filled with ham cheese and tomato, and drink old-fashioned lemonade. It had taken hours on the phone to organise the delivery of the basket, and the items inside it. He’d even managed to find a lemon cheesecake for dessert.

Kurt lies back on the blanket, taking the last spoonful of cheesecake that Blaine offers to him. ‘I feel like you went to too much trouble for me,’ he grins. ‘I don’t deserve all this expense.’

Blaine almost laughs at that. ‘I paid for coffee and lunch. Nothing more than a normal date, is it not?’ He raises an eyebrow, finally letting out that little burble of a giggle, and Kurt laughs back.

‘God, we just had the most un-normal date ever.’

Blaine’s face flushes at that comment. ‘It was okay, though, right?’

Kurt sits up on his elbows, the better to catch Blaine’s eye. ‘It was better than okay. It was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me. I’ve-’ He ducks his head bashfully. ‘I’ve never had anyone pay so much attention to me before, and want me to be the same back. I like it.’ He smiles, small and timid. ‘Very much.’

The grin across Blaine’s face is wider, and at that expression, Kurt feels his own smile blossom across his cheeks. ‘I’m glad,’ Blaine says. ‘I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it.’ He puts their empty bottle of lemonade back into the basket, and it feels like this moment is coming to an end, this little picnic under the leafy willow.

‘If it wasn’t the corniest sentiment ever,’ Kurt quips, ‘I would say I’d want it to last forever.’

‘We don’t-’ Blaine mumbles quickly. ‘We can go see a movie, or a show, or there’s a circus a couple of blocks away that’s there for the next few days and-’

Kurt reaches up and presses his hand over Blaine’s mouth to still his words. ‘I think you’ve spent enough money and effort on me, today. But I don’t want to stop spending time with you.’

Blaine’s reply is quick, once his mouth is freed. ‘Then come back to my place.’

‘Your- your place?’ He raises his eyebrows, suddenly nervous, stomach twisting and his hands raising a sweat. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for- I mean, we only just- this is our first date and-’

‘Shh,’ Blaine says softly, reassuringly. ‘Not- not sex. I’ve only- I mean, the last time I talked to you before today, I had a hangover, and I made a poor impression of myself. I don’t want to push us too fast, not on a first date.’

And the way he says _us_ makes Kurt’s stomach hum in a very different way. 

‘Oh, okay. Um- so no getting drunk either?’

‘No alcohol whatsoever. I just want to show you something. Something I’ve been working on.’

‘Something you’ve been...?’ Kurt trails off.

‘When I’m not riding my bike around this fine city, I sit at home and write music. It’s kind of why Tink and I ended up with our apartment together. She likes guitars but didn’t have one, I like piano but I don’t have the funds to provide one for our little place. Tink has money.’

‘You,’ Kurt says carefully. ‘You wrote me a song?’

‘Well, I mean, kind of. I wrote it, and I wrote it because of you, and I want to show it to you, and I don’t even know if I’d call it a song but-’ He looks up and catches Kurt’s expression, lips quirked up at the edges in an almost-laugh. ‘Yes, I did.’

Kurt truly laughs then, standing up and holding out his hand to lift Blaine off the ground. ‘Well, then, let’s go.’

* * *

 

Blaine unlocks the door with one hand, frowning slightly as the key doesn’t quite engage and Kurt laughs out a snort at the same problem they have between their doors.

‘What?’ Blaine asks.

‘I have trouble with my key at home, too. I try to make sure Rachel’s home before me to let me in.' 

‘Well, normally Tink’s home, but I asked her to clear out for tonight. In case- well, in case we came back here.’ He blushes, and he’s been doing a lot of that the past little while, as their date progressed. He feels flustered and on the backhand, and Kurt seems so calm and put together. Blaine wishes he could put himself together so easily, and not take ages of planning to do so.

‘How thoughtful of you,’ Kurt smiles. He steps across the threshold and slides off his coat, letting Blaine take it and hang it on the hook beside the door. He toes off his boots next, and places them beside the door. It feels strangely intimate and Blaine rushes to copy him, pushing his sneakers up against the wall. 

‘Now, show me this song, before I start shaking with nerves,’ Kurt almost whispers, but he doesn’t seem to be shaking at all. Blaine can feel the tremor in his own hands, and he bites his lip. With a small nod he leads Kurt towards the piano, motioning for him to sit at one end of the long bench seat. He takes the other, positioning himself in the middle, so the barest edge of his thigh presses against Kurt’s, but his hands can reach all the keys he needs.

‘I started this on guitar, before coming across to piano, so I’m sorry if it sounds horrible.’

‘It’s not going to sound horrible, Blaine.’

‘I really hope it doesn’t.’ And he presses his fingers to the keys and plays, soft and gentle, with only the barest of bass accompaniments. There’s no words, of course there isn’t. But he builds the piece, slowly and with an ease that Kurt wishes he could have with music. Even as he listens and Blaine plays, the music swells to a crescendo, more bass and fast movements, no longer slow and careful but hurried. Blaine’s fingers press each note carefully until suddenly he slips and the smallest error falls clear and true, a clash of notes, but he bites his lip and continues, desperate to get to the end, and by the time he is finished, it is nothing in Kurt’s memory of the song. It is only one small fault that proves that Blaine was caught up in the song too, and not just playing the technical notes.

Kurt smiles at him as Blaine rests his fingers carefully on the wooden edge of the keys. 

‘So,’ he asks. ‘What did you think?’

The firm press of Kurt’s hand against his knee is words enough, but he speaks anyway. ‘It’s beautiful. I can’t believe- I can’t believe you wrote that for me.’

‘Well, sometimes I just- I get in this state of just- and you were just so pretty when I saw you and then I screwed it all up and I didn’t know what to do about it and-’ He stops quickly, pressing his fingers into the keys and making a perfect chord, playing into the sound of the music. ‘It just kind of happened,’ he finishes lamely as he draws the small little impromptu melody to a close. 

‘Well,’ Kurt mimics, voice low. ‘I’m glad it did.’

* * *

 

They end up pressed next to each other on the couch, Blaine daring to reach out and take Kurt’s hand while they watch some rom-com that was playing on TV as they flicked past channels. There’s popcorn, and a large bowl of strawberries, and they feed each other with soft laughs, not even realising the enormity of their movements as they brush away juice from each others lips.

Kurt had planned to go home that night, but he falls asleep against Blaine’s shoulder, moving lazy and pliant as Blaine’s wakes him up gently to grab blankets. They curl together on the long sofa, Blaine’s arm comfortably around Kurt’s waist, and they sleep soundly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay guys! I just moved into my new unit on res at uni, and so everything's been pretty hectic. After O-week things should settle down, but in the meanwhile, here's the very last chapter!

Kurt wakes as the sun peeks through Blaine’s living room blinds. He is too comfortable, too perfectly warm and he snuggles back into Blaine’s body, squeezing their joined hands together tightly. 

But he has to work today, and he can’t wear day-old clothes to work. Sighing softly, he disentangles himself from Blaine’s sleeping form, laughing softly to himself as the other man moans and tries to pull him back.

‘Blaine, I have to go.’ He pulls his hands away and stands up, stepping across the room to grab his boots and pull them onto his feet. 

‘Do you have to?’ Blaine murmurs, heavy with sleep.

‘I have to work today.’

‘So do I.’

‘I have to go home to change.’

‘Just stay here and I’ll ride you over to work.’

‘On the back of your bicycle? No, thank you, love.’ And he doesn’t even mean to say it, that little slip of an endearment and he’s not even sure Blaine hears it.

‘Please just stay,’ he says as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and leaning over the back of the couch to watch him. ‘I don’t want you to go.' 

‘I’ll call you tonight when I get home, okay? And I’ll take you out to dinner on Tuesday. We can see that circus you mentioned yesterday, and you should introduce me to Tink.’

‘I-’ Blaine says softly, lost for words. ‘I will.’ 

‘Goodbye, Blaine,’ Kurt murmurs, opening the door behind his back. ‘I’ll talk to you later?’ Laced with hope.

‘I’ll be waiting.’

* * *

 

Rachel’s not at the apartment when Kurt passes through, pulling clothes from his wardrobe and laying them out on his bed before rushing through the shower. He doesn’t want to wash the smell of Blaine from him, but he needs to be clean for work, so he grits his teeth and bears it.

He reaches work barely on time, and the mail has already been delivered to his desk. He sorts through the letters: boss, financial, junk. Then he leans back in his chair and checks his email, slowly and thoroughly. A short and terse message from his boss about his days duties, a message from Carole telling him about the trip to a day spa he bought for her and asking about any New York boys. Smiling at the memory of Blaine’s sleep-addled face, he opens a new email, typing in Rachel’s address.

_You won’t believe how perfect he is._

When he’s finished detailing out the date, he finishes off the message with a few customary kisses and presses send.

‘Letter for Kurt Hummel?’ calls a voice and he looks up, catching Blaine’s wide smile as he leans against the doorframe into the office, helmet under his arm. 

‘Trust you not to do your job properly.’

‘I didn’t get a proper goodbye.’ He smiles, stepping across the few feet between them and dropping an envelope down on Kurt’s desk. Softly, he kisses his cheek, a light brush of lips against soft skin, and Kurt leans into it before Blaine pulls back and steps back to the door with a smile. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he whispers softly and walks out, never turning his back on Kurt until he is out of sight.

Kurt watches until he has nothing left to watch and then turns to the envelope, slitting it open with his thumb. Inside is a small scrap of paper, and on it, in Blaine’s neat, tight handwriting, a short message. 

_Yesterday was the best day of my life. I wish we could do it again today. I miss you._

He stands up so quickly that his chair falls backwards, but he grips the note tight in his fist as he runs, following Blaine out to the foyer. He’s taken the elevator, as the movement of the lights across the top of the machine shows, so Kurt takes the stairs, running as fast as he can in the hopes of getting there before Blaine is gone and out the door and impossible to get back.

He makes it, he knows he’s made it when he sees the doors to the elevator opening and he’s there, right in front and Blaine is stepping out and he can’t stop himself from slipping his fingers into the curls at the base of Blaine’s neck and pressing their lips together, hard and firm and with the slightest slip of tongue across lips.

‘Wow,’ Blaine breathes when Kurt pulls back. ‘That was a much better goodbye. But very unprofessional.’

Kurt presses his head into Blaine’s shoulder and _laughs._


End file.
